


Never Again (A Cliche Title for an Alcoholic Drabble)

by ritaskeeter



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, F/F, Gen, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 11:34:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1303429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritaskeeter/pseuds/ritaskeeter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been nearly a century, but the word ‘love,’ still caught in Aethyta’s throat. It wrapped around her vocal cords like a vice grip, forcing itself back down to the pit of her stomach. (Pre-Mass Effect 1 for obvious reasons)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Again (A Cliche Title for an Alcoholic Drabble)

**Author's Note:**

> 1.) This is very short and sad.  
> 2.) I wrote this at 4 AM and I haven't written in a long time.  
> 3.) Ouch.

It had been nearly a century, but the word ‘love,’ still caught in Aethyta’s throat. It wrapped around her vocal cords like a vice grip, forcing itself back down to the pit of her stomach.

Some nights she heard whispers of her old self, flowing into the hollowed out chasms Benezia had left behind. But a drink was never far from her mind or her grasp, and she down each hungrily, without regret.

She had little desire for sex, but could be persuaded into the occasional one night stand; chasing the illusion of stability, of normalcy. But Aethyta wasn’t a maiden anymore. Hell, she wasn’t even a matron. And sex could lead to attachment, attachment led to love, and love was a word exiled from her vocabulary. Love was vulnerability, and vulnerability was weakness. Never again.

\---------------------

It had been nearly a century, but sometimes, in the middle of the night, Benezia still felt for the bracelet that used to sit snugly on her left wrist. It was absent, and she felt its absence like ice spreading through her veins, down arteries, culminating in the center of her chest.

She pushed through mundane daily activities, spoke at summits and guided her acolytes, holding out for the mercy waiting at the bottom of her nightly bottle of honeyed wine. Her choices were resolute, necessary even. And hindsight might be twenty-twenty, but that doesn’t make the wounds of regret any less deep.

There was no one; only Liara. Liara became her constant in a different way. Benezia’s daughter forced her hand, made her feel as though the only choice was to keep life steady, day to day. Motherhood brought daily new challenges, and Benezia weathered them all, on her own. She wished her child could have had a father - but no. Never again.


End file.
